Morrigan Saga
by Maeglin-Amandil
Summary: Morrigan the drow warlock returns to Mystris Vrak after years away. The plot of her life thickens with the information she has, that could doom or save her old home.
1. Chapter 1

Homecomming

The cavern was a cold as it was black. The party may be only a single mile from the grand Drow city of Mystris Vrak but the Underdark was far too treacherous for them to relax. No Drow would brave the silent caverns and looming trenches beyond the city limits in any attempt to save, or more likely find the remains of, any noble if something went wrong.

_Not that anything __**will**__ go wrong,_ Aedla thought to herself. The message had reached her my word of an enslaved imp, and curiosity had gotten the better of her. Over a decade since she'd seen her sister, and now she requested a meeting in this remote cavern. _Definitely a plot of her's_, the Noble thought.

'My Lady,' one of the soldiers addressed her by her formal title, keeping his eyes down. 'We should return to the city. Matron Mother Eleswyr will be displeased should we return late.'

'Silence male,' Aedla spat, her frustration getting the better of her. It had been a long night. 'You shall speak when you are given permission. Failure to take heed of this command will result in the liberation of your tongue from your defiant mouth.' What a blessing it was to have servants to take your angry rage out on.

'She'll be here, if not on time.'

There was a explosion of light before them. Flames of liquid red flared in a column shape and then receded into blackness as fast as they had appeared. In the centre of where the pillar had been stood a proud drow woman. Her skin was a smoother black than most others, her eyes an intense crimson slightly paler than average. Silver hair was tied behind her head, giving a short, spiked halo effect above her scalp.

'Vendui sister, reprimanding another male I see. You haven't changed,' the woman greeted. Her lithe figure was hidden behind a multi-layered red-purple robe of majestic quality, the outermost of which was translucent.

'Morrigan, how kind of you to arrive,' Aedla answered in a curt fashion. 'May I ask why you thought it was within your right to keep us waiting?'

Her sister laughed, the sparkle not lost from her eyes. 'Surely you don't want to hear a rant about the dangers of our beloved Underdark? You must have lived her almost as long as I, no?'

Though about twelve years her elder, the decade spent away from the city may have led Morrigan away to the surface, meaning that they would have lived in the Underdark for an equal length of time. Strange to think that her sister would make a reference to such an obscure detail.

'Perhaps not. Why don't you go ahead and tell me what you called me here about?'

Morrigan nodded, 'as you wish.' She cleared her throat. 'I wish to make a deal with you, of a specific nature. You see, when I was so politely driven from our beloved city, I was forced to leave behind many items that I find myself now needing. In exchange for allowing me to retrieve them, I shall give you some information.'

Aedla raised an eyebrow, 'of what kind?'

'There is a threat' she began. 'In the lower dark. Without preparation, Mystris Vrak will be consumed by it a hundred times over within a month.'

'You cannot bluff your way past me sister. I will not smuggle an apostate into the city. You are a female, and you failed to do your duty to our grand Spider Queen as all women are bidden! You refused to enter her priesthood!'

'Well then, I am sorry for this,' Morrigan answered, no hint of sarcasm in her voice. 'I shall take my leave of you then.'

'Nau, dalninil d'anthe' her sister yelled, returning to the drow tongue. 'I said I wouldn't smuggle an apostate, I said nothing about escorting a criminal to her execution.' Her hand raised and from the shadows stepped three additional armed warriors. 'Take her!' she commanded.

From beside her, a warrior rushed forwards, arms held wide in preparation to grab his target. Drow men were always taller than drow women, at least those from Mystris Vrak. They had a much high muscle intensity than the females but this gave them no more authority over them.

Morrigan smiled darkly. 'you might have been greater than me before, little sister. But things have changed.'

She flicked both her wrists and from the depths of her sleeves shot a pair of wands that she grasped in each hand. Directing one of them at the approaching warrior, she unleashed a bold of jet-black energy that sent him hurtling across the cavern, blood spilling from his chest onto the stone.

Before anyone else could move, her wrists flicked and there was a silent, almost invisible tremor in the air, linking her with her victims.

Two arrows were loosed from crossbows, narrowly avoiding her shoulders. With a yell, the other swords man raced towards her, his blade held high. When he was close, he swung a wide arc.

She ducked to late, the blade drawing a shallow cut in her right cheek.

Enraged, Morrigan thrust her two wands into his neck and unleashed a rough invocation. Around his neck seared a circle of purple energy, sucking every ounce of life from his body. His eyes glimmered red and faded in colour as she stabbed through his neck with one of her wand and directed the energy ring towards her sister with the other.

Crying out an incantation and holding forth her hand, she captured the magic of the ring, but it was too strong for her to crush. Her brow creased as it pulsed against her will, racking her mind indirectly.

As her sister struggled, Morrigan covered her body in a sheen of ghostly magic and set loose a whip of violet energy towards one of the archers. As her attack rammed home, the male screamed in weakness and crumbled into a bloodied heap.

Aedla screamed and hurled the magic of the ring towards her single remaining supporter, rending his soul into fragments.

'Now only we remain,' the apostate yelled, 'and who shall win?'

Aedla ran her fingers along a white ring on her left hand. She spoke the command word, calling upon the powers embedded into the small metal band. It hummed, vibrating against her finger. Pointing to her sister, she unleashed its magic.

Around the pair, appeared several more male drow. They unleashed bursts of power, focusing them all on Morrigan, who screamed. Her body was assaulted from all sides by invisible force that drew blood from her face and arms. She fell to the stone, her face contorted in rage.

Another male, dressed in an ornate robe that didn't cover as much of his sculpted figure as it should have done, appeared beside Aedla and bowed. 'Mistress Aedla, we are honoured to serve.'

Thank Lolth she had bound a calling spell to her ring. These house mages were loyal only to her, perhaps more so than her mother. As long as she was in a position of power, they would serve her. 'Thank you, Akae,' she muttered.

Glancing at her sister she found a smile spread across her face. She'd always been jealous of her sister. Her own hair was completely bone white and lifeless. Her skin, worn and lighter than the well lusted after rich black. Even her eyes were a dead red, sapped of the youthful energy they once held.

'Torture her.'

'But my lady, surely your mother would want to see her unharmed, if this is indeed your sister as your mental message said,' the wizard hesitated.

Aedla leant in close, feeling her torso brush his. 'My dear Akae,' she whispered to him. 'You have two options. Either you torture her and then return us all to the compound, or you return us now and watch mother torture her. If you choose the latter, you will accompany me back to my room latter this evening,' she clutched his crotch, 'where I shall, show you the most painful moment of your life.' She stabbed into his groin with her nail. 'Your choice.'

Akae winced and stepped back. 'Hurt her,' he ordered, meekly.

His apprentices complied.

Morrigan's screams filled the caverns, bouncing down the tunnels and off the crevices. Every limb in her body was assaulted by magic. Her sister screamed for more until every inch of skin had been broken and healed, then broken once more. All of her bones were shattered and then set awkwardly. It was well over an hour before her sister tired.

'Take us home,' she bid Akae, who waved a hand, swallowing them all with a spell.

When the spell cleared, they were in a familiar hall.

It was long and rectangular, supported along the edges by two rows of pillars. Every inch of wall was covered in thousands of tiny carvings, intricate and dangerous. Images of spiders adorned many surfaces and arachnid idols were displayed prominently on ornate plinths.

_All for Lolth, _Morrigan thought.

She was surrounded my her sister's mages, all of them exercising magic over her to prevent her from calling on her own spells. It was an unfortunate position to be in.

Matron Mother Flemmeth stormed through the doors, her eyes glazed over. She hated being called for duty. Her lanky mop of gnarled hair obscured her face, enough to disguise her wrinkled skin.

'My dear daughter, you've returned to us,' her voice was utterly bored. 'Such a shame you are an apostate. Had you decided to serve Lolth, you would have been a much greater asset to us, not an og'elend.' She looked down her nose at her. 'They tell me you've got magic, arcane to say no less. Perhaps you can still serve.'

Flemmeth called over a pair of priestesses. 'Shackle her.'

The came close and uttered length prayers, pressing their fingers into Morrigan's forearms. Around her wrists appeared shackles with a typically drow spider motif. Her heart sank. These would enslave her to her mother. She was a slave.

'Beat her and throw her in a cell until morning.'

The kick to her head left her in darkness. At least it numbed the pain.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Morrigan - 2**_

In Mystris Vrak, all mages were trained in the great crystal shaped stone fortress of Zorrodin. The centre of arcane learning was supported by a massive spider statue that dominated the vertical cavern of the city, below the weightless temple of Lolth.

Ilim had worked hard for the position he was in. As the most powerful spell caster of House Varda, he was the only logical choice to be Archmage. But having all the magical power that he did changed very little. Perhaps he could get away with more, but if he pushed the boundary far enough, the priestesses would have his head in an instant.

He hated the idea of ending up as the latest sacrifice.

Lolth was a wicked mistress, but in the years he had spent in the city, he had come to only one conclusion. The Drow owed the Spider Queen their very existence. She had liberated them from a world where fire scorches from the skies every day in the event known as dawn, and where the most powerful magic their race knew had not effect. He knew that Lolth may be evil, but he also knew that he found the politics of his people to be comforting and right, in a way. It was Lolth's faith that made this so. Therefore he would serve the Spider Queen with every breath in his body.

He had heard of surface politics. Democracy, Communism, Socialism all seemed to be so dire a dull compared to the Houses system he enjoyed so much. To an outsider, the schemes of the Drow was at first confusing. Once they began to understand, they saw it as evil. Then, after a while, it became part of them. Lolth's web at its finest.

Truth be told, Ilim had an unhealthy obsession with the surface. He hoarded books on surface lore and other such things. He wanted to understand it, but never to go there. The surface was a terrible place. Lolth had taken their people from that.

He had sent spells to the surface, having used a vast array of arcane circles to empower his magic enough to reach past the power of the Underdark, that weakened some kinds of magic. He had stolen few things. One time he had opened the portal and a tiny creature and hopped out. It was white and covered in fur. Naturally he had incinerated it, but later he discovered that the animal was only a harmless rabbit, as the surfacers called it. Other things had come through as well. Many kinds of gear, including what seemed to be a primitive loom of sorts.

It took the Archmage a moment or two to tear himself from his thoughts. Recent events laid heavily on his mind. There was something going on in the Underdark, but he just couldn't think what. He had been working closely with another Senior Mage, by the name of Aldran. He was a committed wizard, choosing to spend his years learning the magic that flowed through the Underdark.

Ilim was, of course, far more powerful than him. But it did help to have a specialist on his side. _On his side, _what a human expression. Aldran and he had a common goal that caused and alliance. Once one of them no longer gained anything they would end the alliance. That was the civilised drow way.

He was far from the average, robe-loving mage. Ilim wore nothing but tight black leather, making not a sound and allowing him to hide and cast webs of magic without any restriction on his movement. His hair was kept short, but otherwise untouched.

A groan met his ears from a distant corridor, accompanied by the stench of carrion. Necromancy was such a popular study amongst the drow. It seemed that someone was summoning zombies. Probably a lower aptitude class.

Ilim dismissed it and continued down the hallway until he was at the entrance to Aldran's office. The door was covered in magical protections, but Ilim disabled them all with very little effort. As the door swung open, he was meant with musky smelling air. The dark chamber was lit with hundreds of rows of candles, their tiny flames burning his eyes for a brief seconds before he could move out of dark-vision.

As always, a small basket of sweet breads and cakes was set by the door. _How many of them are poisoned, _Ilim wondered, almost aloud. His shoes made tapping sounds on the suddenly harder floor. When he looked at the other mage, he saw a short and stockey drow, lacking their races slender and supple appearance. The drow were alluring, exotic to other races, it was one of the reasons many surfacer's feared them. Aldran was, however, not the average drow by far.

He was sitting, in mid air, his eye closed in meditation. Many drow found meditation a preferable alternative to sleeping. As Elves, they could enter into a trance in which they were alert, but resting. Meditation helped them focused themselves that little bit more. Gave them an additional edge.

Pointing a finger at the resting wizard, Ilim let loose a spark of his power and brought Aldran from his dreaming. He jerked awake, looking confused and lost for a few moments before his senses returned to him. The wizard stood and bowed to the Archmage. 'Vendui Archmage,' he greeted, hastily pulling on a pair of socks and shoes. 'Can I offer you any wine?' he asked, gesturing to a decanter and glass on a table, beside a small pile of cakes, to the side of the room. Both objects rose and moved towards Ilim, who put the back on the table with a direct gesture.

'No thankyou, Master Aldran. I must decline.'

'Are you certain, Archmage? It is from the surface, made with fruits that they call grapes, all crushed up and mixed together.' Aldran was a charmer. Though his round stomach made him repulsive to most Drow, he was still able to charm is way into many situations, especially when certain High Priestesses were concerned.

'I said no,' Ilim replied, his tone firm enough to discourage any more questions. 'I came because I wished to discuss your progress with you.'

'Of course Archmage,' Aldran moved a pile of books, papers and scrolls off several chairs. 'Do make yourself comfortable.'

'I do not need to.'

'As you wish,' Aldran smiled coyly.

Ilim produced a scrap of paper from inside his bracer. 'This rune was found in the Underdark by our scouts. I know something is brewing, now you find out what.'

The other mage took the scrap of paper and gathered a circle of books around him, opening them to different pages and taking notes on another shard of paper. He worked fast, having read the books so commonly. He flicked though hundreds of pages in some and on others he turned only a single page.

'Here it is!' he exclaimed excitedly, 'shall we plunder the grand secrets of this ancient arcane tome to discover it's secrets?' he asked rhetorically.

Ilim sighed and cleared his throat. 'Will you please just get on with it?'

'A l'orbb valsharess' olath cress!' Aldran cursed in the drow language, the dark words rolling of his tongue. 'This is not a good sign, ussta abbil.'

'Just tell me what you've found, wael...'Ilim trailed off.

'My apologies, archmage. It's just that this rune is one of the more dark ones, according to the tome.' He ran his eyes along the text once more. 'This is no mistake. It can only be this.' He compared the rune to the page once more. 'This is the run of unmaking, only used in the most destructive spells of all, that undo all other kinds of magic, even across time. A mage could use this to make the wards around the city crumble five years ago. It is dangerous as it can have many adverse effects.'

Ilim considered the extermination with only a little bit of surprise. If what Aldran was saying was indeed the truth, and his tone was earnest, then this could unmake the city. It could ruin the city, bring it down to nothing. The threats of the Underdark would wipe the city to nothing if the protections were to even lax for a second.

'Can you compile a list of all effects that the rune could have? I need it as soon as possible,' Ilim turned walked to the door and glanced back, 'and mention this to no one, you're not irreplaceable, remember that.'

'Yes archmage,' Aldran nodded, looking back to his book.

_This was going to be a long week, _Ilim thought.

He walked down the corridor and passed several classrooms. The dark corridors were lit with eerie magical lights, a rare thing in the Underdark. Drow could see in the dark, but light made things easier when text was concerned. It also gave the right impression to visitors.

As he prepared to climb the stairs to his office, a figure approached him from behind a pillar. Her pale hair was truly colourless and erratic in the way it framed her wrinkled, tight face. Two pin pricks of red marked her eyes. 'Archmage,' she croaked in a grainy, high pitched voice. Her frail body was covered with layers of odd cloth, in her hand she carried an implement that looked as if it had come from the kitchens.

'Yes, Enchanter Kata?'

Kata had been in the tower for many years, before even he had been Archmage over seventy years ago. She was an enigma, but the temple had forbade him from removing her, as normal they gave to reason. It was clear she had some form of power, but as to its extent, he knew nothing.

'I have heard the walls whispering again, would you allow me to perform the cleansing?' she asked, clearly annoyed at something.

'Go right ahead,' Ilim smiled sarcastically, 'I must go.' He walked past her as she began chanting.

It took the archmage about five minutes to reach his chambers. When he did, he sealed the door and threw his leathers to the ground, moving into the room he had reserved for bathing. With a gesture, he filled with basin with steaming water and climbed it, sighing as the water touched his skin. He sat there for several minutes, before standing and moving the water so that it showered down over him, rinsing his hair. Not all drow could afford to bathe in such comforts. It was only a little thing, to feel so pristine. But it was a blessing Lolth had given him nonetheless.

He dried his skin with magic heat and then moved to his bed, not bothering to dress in sleeping attire or cover himself with the sheets. His eyes closed, and he fell into the waking dream of drow slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Morrigan 3**_

**Morrigan**

When Flemmeth had told her that she was to repay for her crimes to the city and her house, Morrigan had pictured things much differently. She had been sent to a cold cell for hours on end, uncomfortable to say the least, but when the chimes of the great clock rang thrice through the city, she was collected from her cell and dragged to the house armoury.

Had she not still suffered under the ugly, spider shaped shackles, she would have made a stand against the guards and her mother and she might have even escaped. How it was now, however, her mother was in command and she would remain so for a while, until the tables turned.

_And they would, _Morrigan promised herself.

In the armoury, she had been told that she was going to start building the House's honour again. This was to begin by fighting in the arena of the city. It would, at least, give her a chance to take her anger out on someone else. She was allowed her possessions back, and given free choice to choose equipment from the armoury if she needed.

Of course, she refused.

The carriage to the city arena was reluctant to ride steady, and Morrigan almost found herself trying to curse it. At last they came to the stadium and she was pushed over the threshold and into the pits where combatants were to prepare.

She only had to wait for a few minutes, but she could feel the eyes of the other warriors looking over her and making her feel rather aggravated. Had she the freedom, she would have shown them the true reason few men walked after taking to her bed. That brought a smirk to her face.

The door opened and she stepped into the arena of screaming fans, a rare sight in a drow city, ready for her fate...

**Malde**

Malde watched his competition walk confidently into the arena pit and felt himself smile. She was a sultry little devil, but he could tame her, maybe even without bleeding her first. He liked a challenge. The few women that he had fought, he had beaten and taught a lesson. She would be no different.

He drew a dagger, that he usually kept hidden in his belt. This was his chosen weapon whenever he fought a woman. It gave him pleasure to know that the Priestess of Lolth could act so hight and mighty, but that this simple blade of steel could cast them away as easily as a common man.

Holding the blade up, he ran his tongue along the flat of the blade and then drew just one drop of blood from the tip. It hurt, but it made him feel good that the bitch would die after his 'impure' blood touched her's.

Drow women were so beautiful, so desirable. Yet their whore-of-a-goddess, Lolth, told them foolish things. She said that women were the better gender, that the highest man was beneath the lowest woman.

And this was why he only wanted to give them two things : pleasure and pain. The highest form of pleasure and the highest form of pain. No contradictions, not misunderstandings. He would lie with them, and then resume his mission to kill them. Only once had he achieved his goal at the same time.

Now it was time, and he made his way to the other door, making sure she didn't see him. The doors opened and he stepped out, ready to draw blood again. It made him smirk.

**Flemmeth**

Flemmeth sat comfortably in the arena. It appalled her how many of her rivals had come here to watch the blood-sport without obvious protection. It seemed they relied on favoured slaves to protect them. All that needed to happen was one angry slave and they could be slaughtered. None of her enemies could see her protections, the intricate layers of prayers that her body was bathed in.

Ignoring her foes, for now, she turned her attention to her daughter as she stepped into the ring. A silence settled over the people as Morrigan and her enemy walked to the centre of the arena and stopped in front of each other. _The apostate better win_, Flemmeth thought.

'I declare this bout under the eight eyes of the Spider Queen,' the Champion shouted to the audience. She was only there for tradition. 'The combatants, Morrigan of House Kormalie and Malde of House Diala, shall fight to the death to appease the great Flesh-Carver and her servants. Blessed be the name Weaver of Webs for evermore!'

The champion vanished in a flash and a gong declared the first bout begun.

Flemmeth watched them as they eyed each other and battled with sheer will before a single blow was landed. Who would make the first move? All good bouts began like this. The tension was tight in the air, and I smelled good as it rose in Flemmeth's nostrils.

Malde struck out with a dagger, but the apostate was too fast and sidestepped before the blade could reach her. Her hands grasped the sides of his head and her body seemed to partially fade from view. It was her speciality, magic that made her less than solid.

As she faded, a violet glow was passing from her hands directly into the skull of the low-housed warrior. He yelled as blood spilled from the back of his head. It seemed as if Morrigan had already won, when he twisted in her grip and brought the dagger into her chest. She gasped and leapt back, but her less-than-solid body wasn't so easy to kill. The apostate looked more angry than hurt. Her wrists flicked in unison, her wands now in her hands. Before her enemy could get any closer she sent a single, direct line of black lightning coursing over his skin.

A weak spell like that didn't wound too much, but it did hurt. The warrior swung in a wide, wild arc that almost reached the Apostate. His vision was blurred from the blood in his eyes, but he was determined to kill her.

Another whip of the dark lightning ran over his skin and Morrigan avoided yet another swipe his blade. He wasn't doing well at all. This had to end soon, she was just getting bored with it.

When he made another swing, Morrigan used a well placed blast of her dark lightning to disarm him. She then flicked her wands back up her sleeves and used several more blasts to weaken his arms.

It took her several hits to slow him, but once she did she saw an opening.

Morrigan launched herself at him and pressed her lips to his. At first it was nothing more than a kiss, but a second into the embrace his entire body tightened and he stopped trying to beat her with his fists. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and her eyes glazed over with a violet sheen.

Malde screamed as his skin split. Blood poured from every inch of his body.

Morrigan was dazed, barely able to hear the cheering from the crowd has the bloody pulp that had been Malde of House Diala fell to the ground. She was led from the arena and cold water thrown over her.

She enjoyed the slack jawed looks that she got from the men in the pits this time. 'At least they appreciate something other than my body', she muttered aloud.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Morrigan 4**_

Four days after the excitement in the arena, Morrigan was still being treated as a servant. No matter how much money she had earned for her mother, no matter how many times she had been dragged out to kill enemies and slaves in the ring, she wasn't any better off. When she wasn't killing or bound in her cell, she was forced into slave-work if only to bring her deranged mother a small sense of comfort.

It was demeaning in many ways. No noble drow would be forced into these chores, not even a male and especially not one that could command magic. Despite the ideal that men were lesser than women, men (arcane spell casters especially) still had power over women. Smart priestesses knew that, despite it also certainly being suicidal, mages could kill them before their own servants could intervene.

Drow society was based on insulting each other without going so far as to end up torn apart by some invisible beast or incinerated by a mage's fire. To some extent it was the force of magic itself that corrupted their race so much. It certainly made for some interesting power games.

It was on the fifth day that her chance came.

That night she had been thrown into her cell, as usually. Throughout the day she had been particularly free with the snide comments and was punished by being forced to sleep while her hands where tied behind her back, almost level with her shoulders. Thought uncomfortable, it was almost inspiring in the subtle ways her mother chose to torment her. She had always had an eye for such levels of torture.

Less that an hour after she had been tied up, she her screams from the corridor beyond her cell. Unable to use any magic without her mother knowing, Morrigan chose instead to await the source of the noise to come closer.

She needed not wait long, for after a few minutes, one of the house priestesses backed into view, her eyes fixed on some threat down the hall to the left. Her eyes were quivering in a fear that was all too rare for a Drow. It showed weakness.

When the jailer had bound Morrigan's hands, he hadn't bothered to lock the door to her cell. Why should he? The locks were sealed with magic and she couldn't use most of her spells as her hands were bound. Even if she tried to use magic, her mother would be able to find her and knock her to the ground in seconds.

The priestess backed into Morrigan's cell; it was the last in the dead-end corridor, she had no where else to go. When the threat came into view, Morrigan could have laughed. It was a common slave. It may have been a Bugbear, but, even so, one spell from the priestess should have dealt with him in seconds.

The tall, furred beast approached, eyeing Morrigan with suspicion. A low growl rumbled in its throat and the twisted, rusty hammer it held was raised. It stopped, as if unwilling to swing. In its mind it was considering and debating, and the prisoner saw her chance.

'Greetings, beast,' she began, putting on her seductive face. 'As you can see, I am nothing more than a prisoner, have you way with the priestess and then let me go. Once you've done that, I will be indebted to you.' She leant forward slightly, 'and I always chase my debts. I like them...fulfilled.'

The bugbear took a step back. 'I'll not fall for your charms, ugly elf,' it spat, bluntly. 'I only want to see Drow blood on this floor,' it's eyes shot to the priestess. 'And you, pretty elf, you can serve as one of my wives under the new order of the city. The order that puts your slimy race at the bottom where they belong.'

Morrigan thought before speaking. 'If it is not pleasure you want, then how about power? I am a spell caster, of no small power. Release me and I shall do what I can to make sure your kind win this fight.'

The beast laughed, 'help? You?'

The priestess moved forwards and twisted the mechanisms in the lock, unsealing Morrigan's arms.

'What?' the Bugbear screamed, the hair around his jaw quivering with saliva. 'Now I crush!' He ran forwards, swinging the blunt weapon in his hands, a roar tearing from his throat.

Pointing at the beast, Morrigan released the tiniest bolt of her power and it fell to the floor, spasms running through its arms and legs as her curse ravaged its mind and its soul. She then turned to the priestess and gave a dark smile. Raising her hand to cast a finishing spell, she was surprised when the woman held up her arms and begged to be spared.

'What is going on here?' Morrigan asked, sharply.

The woman quivered and then began to speak in a flood of speech that blurred the lines between sentences. 'The slaves, the city they're attacking everywhere. The house, it's under siege. There are fires and battles and the halls and melting. The faithful, we have no magic, something is stopping it, something is unmaking our power. We're all going to die without it. The slaves...the slaves...please...help...the slaves!'

Sighing, Morrigan felled the gabbling lunatic with the tip of her finger.

She made her way out of the cell. It was indeed as the fool had said. Bodies, both Drow and slave, with more drow than slave, had fallen in the corridors. Signs of battle: blood, ammunition shafts and scorch marks, littered her path. If it was as told, then they would indeed loose this fight. The slaves has so many members, and the clergy only held order with their magic. If something had indeed blocked divine magic, it must be powerful.

Finding nothing else to do, Morrigan followed the sounds of battle until they led her to the Great Hall of the House Complex. She entered the large chamber under the cover of illusion magic, masking her from view. Inside, she found her mother and some other nobles of the house, she had to confess she had forgotten their names, fighting their foes with a great vigour. They did not cast any spells, but they seemed to be doing just as well relying on the power of magical items to do the trick.

Flemmeth gave out a shout and from her neck tore a medallion. It glinted gold and seemed to be shaped like a web surrounding a dragon. Her mother gave out a shout, the ancient lyrics to a lost prayer tingling on her lips. An aura of power flooded into being around her, lifted her from the ground. Her body flicked to several shapes at once, the settled on that of a dragon that swelled in size until it filled the hall.

Now in a Draconic shape, Flemmeth let loose a blast of green acid from the maw of her newly formed, black, scaled body. Slaves and Drow alike recoiled as the wave overtook them, they couldn't even scream, the acid burned inside them. With the smashing of clawed feet into the ground of the main hall, Flemmeth the now-Dragon moved to the entranced of the hall and pushed through the wall that led to the outside of the complex.

Morrigan was tempted to follow her, but decided that this would be the perfect time to sabotage her mother's favourite spell. She ran over to the seat her mother loved to sit upon and bark out orders. Using her mind to see magic, she saw what she wanted. Runes of power floated in the air around her throne. Reaching out her hand, Morrigan sent a pulse of her power and banished the magic from her sight.

There was a shimmer in the air and Morrigan turned to see the dragon shrink until it was the shape of her mother once more. The slaves swarmed over her, some falling to her power but most managing to withstand her assaults. She yelled and spat, swung her mace wildly.

The two priests beside her ran at her, Morrigan only just realised her invisibility was spent. Calling her power, she knocked them away and covered her body in a sheen of ghostly mists that coalesced around her to hide her body.

Around her wrists, the shackles fell to the ground, disintegrating into dust. Her mother was dead. Only her death would undo the spell. Smiling to herself, she ran from the hall and wove her way through the conflict.

When she reached the edge of the House she sighed. Free at last.


End file.
